


Growing

by staystark



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Character Study, F/M, Kinda, Stiles-centric, it's all about the hair, mention of Mama Stilinski - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staystark/pseuds/staystark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dude,” Scott called from the window suddenly, “you’re growing your hair out?!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing

**Author's Note:**

> This was my Teen Wolf fanfiction contest entry a few months ago and I'm pretty happy with it. I mean, I didn't win but I thought the idea was solid. I kind of took the challenge up because of all the remarks about Stiles and his hair and responded in a way that I hope Jeff Davis would.

Stiles stood in front of his bathroom mirror, eyes examining the same strands of hair over and over again. It was getting longer, not that it was too obvious, only Stiles would notice because it was his hair and no one besides Scott ever got close enough to notice. Except maybe Derek but he was always too busy slamming him into walls or threatening him. 

He sighed and pressed his thighs against the lip of the sink in an attempt to give it a closer look. The inspection was useless though, as well as running his fingers through the locks, ruffling them with his palms, and tugging at it. Was it time for a cut already? It wasn’t too long, but then the question of should he cut it popped into his head. 

This happens every so often, when that stupid question comes forward, and then Stiles has to make a pro and con list of having long hair. It was the easiest way to organize his thoughts but no matter how many pros were on the list, he always ended up cutting it. Maybe it was because Stiles didn’t like change or because it was the last haircut his mother gave him, Stiles didn’t know, doesn’t know. 

With a sheet of paper before him, he began with the pros on the left and the cons on the right. The first pro being it would be different. He sat there for nearly an hour, music playing softly from his computer, throwing a stress ball in hopes of better brain function, or something. 

By the time he thought he was done, the pro side was longer. But when Stiles opened the desk drawer and pulled out the old pair of clippers, he felt no desire to do it. It seemed as though the pros outweighed the cons as he put the device away.

\---

“Dude,” Scott called from the window suddenly, “you’re growing your hair out?!”

Stiles turned swiftly in his chair, startled by his best friend’s appearance, and let out a sigh of relief before registering that it was a question.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Stiles murmured loosely, scratching self-consciously at his scalp. It was a month into the summer and his hair had gotten longer. It all sort of spiked in an unruly fashion and although it was different, it didn’t seem bad. Stiles almost didn’t notice it.

“Why?” Scott climbed fully through the window but stood in place, taking in the new style from a higher vantage point.

Stiles shrugged, because really, he doesn’t know. This never happens. He always ends up cutting his hair after the lists and it’s been almost three weeks! A small part of him knew that his decision was logical. The pro-side was longer. But he always ignores that, making his decision illogical. Very confusing. Stiles still had the sheet of paper, tucked away in a notebook at his desk. He had pulled it out a few times, rereading them and adding more bullet points. Not that it made much of a difference because his hair was still growing and he was still not cutting it.

“Looks good,” Scott assured before moving deeper into the room. Stiles smiled at that, but he only held it briefly as Scott proceeded to sit on the bed and pull out a chemistry book.

\---

A few more weeks passed and his hair continued to grow. It was starting to look messy and that bothered Stiles and he was sure to add messy to the right side. So he decided to do the most logical, stereotypical thing he could think of and buy hair products.

As he always had short hair, buying those goods was deemed unnecessary. Sure, he used 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner regularly (or as regularly as needed) but never gel or mousse or any sort of spray. 

When Stiles brought up his insecurities to his best friend, Scott was quick at recommendations, which shouldn’t have startled Stiles but did. Scott never really knew how to take care of his own hair until after a couple of months of dating Allison Argent. From Scott’s recount, he had been teasing her about all of her beauty products and in order to make him understand, she used them on him. And after he conceded to the miracles of mousse the two started to make-out and—Stiles had to stop him from talking. Stiles didn’t enjoy hearing about the lovebirds sexy-times, when they had sexy-times. It was a good thing Scott was still in love with Allison and determined to wait for her (whatever that really meant) or else the conversation probably would’ve taken a depressing route.

Anyway, Stiles went out and bought all that was suggested (which cost a surprisingly large amount, he’d have to add that to the list) and went home. 

“Did you get the milk?” Sheriff Stilinski asked as Stiles entered the kitchen with his hands full of bags. 

“Of course,” Stiles replied, moving about the kitchen to put everything in its respective places. Moving from the dining room, Sheriff Stilinski began to idly help, and then—

“Are these all yours?” he asked, astonished at his son’s merchandise. The Sheriff began to fish through the bag as Stiles mumbled, “Affirmative,” continuing to put everything away.

“All of it?” the Sheriff reiterated, causing Stiles to still. 

“Well, yeah,” Stiles rose a hand to touch at his head, feeling the bangs scratch at his forehead. “Kind of getting tired of looking like there’s a mop on my head.” He followed the joke up with a weak chuckle; Sheriff Stilinski was not amused.

“Do you even know how to use any of these?”

Stiles was immediately offended, but then realized that although Scott had told him what to buy, he didn’t have any firsthand experience with the products. So he supplied, “I’ll follow the directions. Or watch some videos, or ask Scott—Dad, I…will figure it out.” He then reached for the bag and made to retreat to his room, tripping over his feet at the corner.

“So you’re keeping it that way?”

“Hm?” Stiles hummed, switching to reverse, unsure if his father had spoken.

“You’re growing your hair out?” His father asked, turning to fully face his son. “You’re not going to cut it?”

“Uh, no. I’m growing it out, for now.” Stiles shrugged and switched the bag from his left hand to his right. “You know, just something different. Change is good.”

Sheriff Stilinski gave him a sympathetic look, and although Stiles recognized the expression, he was never quite sure how to respond.

A tight awkward smile clung to Stiles’ face and his dad dismissed him after a second, calling at the retreating form about breakfast for dinner in an hour, to which Stiles called back, “No bacon!”

Sometimes Papa Stilinski worried about his son. Not always, because Stiles was a semi-charming, capable teenager but times like these when… Usually, Stiles said too much. Anyone not used to the hyperactive bundle of boy would have to scrape through his sentences with a fine toothed comb, but somehow, it was always worse when he said too little.

\---

Two days and fifteen videos later, Stiles had finally figured what best suit his head shape and facial structure, and a week to perfect the new look. If he was completely honest, it was a mesh between Jackson Whittemore’s and Derek Hale’s hair. More centered than Jackson’s, not as pushed forward as Derek’s but still similar to both.

As his dad and Scott were the only ones who saw him on a regular basis, Stiles was a bit on edge about their reactions. He didn’t need to be though because Scott gladly gave approval and while Sheriff Stilinski didn’t gave a blunt “yes” or “no,” there were small indicators that Stiles felt strongly suggested an accepted indifference.

The last month of summer almost didn’t exist, it went by so fast. With Scott done with summer school (finally!) and only having to deal with the occasional day of work, the duo spent the last of their free time being boys. They spent the night at each other’s houses (Ms. McCall had marveled at Stiles’ hair and proceeded to ruffle it and call him cute), playing video games, watching TV, taste-testing every food combination they could come up with, and practicing lacrosse. They even drove out to the beach one free weekend, joking the whole time about who would win in a fight: a wolf or a shark?

With late August came the last full moon of summer and for the fourth time since all of this wolf business started, Stiles stayed home. It was a boring Wednesday and he and his father ate dinner and watched football, Stiles twitching every time he thought he heard a howl.

Stiles hadn’t seen any of the pack since the end of the school year. He’d seen Isaac once at the market but it had been a short encounter and Stiles didn’t get to ask him about the rest of the pack’s well-being, not that he even knew if they were still a pack. So much un-finished wolf business.

And then school started.

Stiles hadn’t expected so many stares when he entered the school. Sure, he expected some recognition (he was the lacrosse hero at the end of the past semester and he was still the Sheriff’s son) but there was staring and sneaking glances, and dare he suggest, flirtatious smiles. 

He saw Lydia Martin, who gave him a curious look before smiling and waving in his general direction. And just like that, his long time crush hit him in the chest and he was eagerly waving back, though not approaching. Yeah, Lydia might be taken and completely in love with Jackson but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be on her radar. Stiles liked to think he could at least be her friend if anything else.

It wasn’t until lunch that everyone got to greet each other and talk. For maybe the third time in his entire high school journey, Stiles sat at a packed table. There was Jackson (who wasn’t acting like a complete jerk) and Lydia, Danny, Scott, himself, and some of the other members of the lacrosse team. It reminded Stiles of kindergarten, when they were all forced to sit side-by-side during lunch time.

“Your hair looks really good,” Danny complimented before biting into his apple.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles replied, feeling embarrassed but smiling nonetheless.

“Danny stole my compliment,” Lydia informed him, capturing his attention. A loopy sort of smile spread across Stiles’ face (how could he not smile when Lydia just praised his him?! Well, his hair, but it was an extension of himself so it counted, right?) and Stiles gave his thanks, Scott nudging him with a knowing smirk.

Lunch happened and the rest of school happened. Nothing too spectacular, besides the continued looks and smiles—Well, and seeing Erica Reyes. Stiles was in a rush to get to Harris’ class when he saw her. She was by the lockers and there was a gaggle of chattering freshman between them but their eyes connected and Stiles was sure she recognized him, but he had to go.

\---

That night, pack business when down. Scott was involved so Stiles became involved (or as involved as he was allowed to be considering he was neither werewolf nor hunter) and there was just so much information and arguments that it was overwhelming. Add the fact that Peter Hale was less than fifteen feet away and Stiles added uncomfortable under the situation as well.

“Nice hair.” The admiration was from Erica. At its haphazard timing, it somehow diffused the tension of the situation. 

“Thanks,” Stiles replied, ducking his head sheepishly.

“It makes you taller,” Peter added from his seat. Stiles didn’t know what to say to that so he just acknowledged the statement with a nod. 

“It does,” Isaac confirmed, Boyd nodding in silent agreement.

“Can I count myself as part of the six foot club then?” Stiles asked, not sure what kind of response he would get.

“Go home,” Derek instructed instead, cutting through the Stiles-and-his-hair talk. Stiles wasn’t the only one thrown off by the announcement but apparently Derek wasn’t fond of this topic. “Everyone, just go home.”

No one said anything as they all shuffled away from the remaining Hales. Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles saw Peter place a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder.

\---

Stiles felt strangely uncomfortable when he got home. He wasn’t sure where the unsettling curl in his stomach came from but as he took a seat at his desk, he began to search for his list. He found it after a few minutes of riffling through spirals and books and he added another bullet point on the right side—which was when Stiles saw that the cons finally outweighed the pros.

No more than fifteen minutes later, Stiles stood at the bathroom mirror with the old pair of clippers ready to go.

He decided to go with a three on top and began, starting on the left and making his way right, careful with every strip, especially near the crown, which required more attention. He used a two to cut the sides next, then the back, and he even took the time to care for his sideburns.

The whole process took just over twenty minutes (he was a bit rusty) but by the end, Stiles felt better—Stiles felt like himself. It was nice.

He cleaned and showered, not remotely bothered that it was almost three in the morning on a school night.

\---

Scott was the first to see the old Stiles in the school parking lot and was the first to say, “Dude, you cut your hair!”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawled easily, shouldering his backpack.

“It’s so short now.”

“Eh,” Stiles sounded with a shrug and lazy smile. “It’ll grow.” They began to move towards the school. “Besides, it makes me faster.”

“And shorter.”

“Don’t remind me!”

**Author's Note:**

> The whole point of growing his hair was an outward expression of growth. Stiles has grown a lot as a character and as person, he just wanted it to show. For people to see and somehow understand, and when that didn't quite happen, he realized that it didn't matter nearly as much as he thought.


End file.
